


Sometimes I Can't Be Put Back Together

by Skalidra



Series: Earth-3 Storyline [19]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Forever Evil (Comics), Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Acceptance, Canonical Character Death, Earth-3, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, Madness, No Sex, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Roy wakes up and finds Jason gone it's not any cause for alarm, but when he goes downstairs and the entire Owl-family is there, and silent? And, even worse, Jason <em>isn't</em> among them? Then it's time for worry, and maybe even a bit of panic. Things only spiral downhill when Roy finds out that this is the anniversary of the day Jason was killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes I Can't Be Put Back Together

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is actually for last week, April 27th. I found out that day that it's the anniversary of Jason's death, and obviously I couldn't let that go past without writing something for it. So, have some lovely hurt/comfort with a side of Jason Todd/Roy Harper. Warnings in the tags!

From the moment I wake up — in Wayne manor, in a  _massive_ bed, and how  _awesome_  is that? — I know something isn't right. It's not just waking up alone, because Jason usually wakes up earlier than I do and he doesn't always stick around to wait for me to join him, but there's something in the air that doesn't feel right. The silence of the manor is oppressive, unnerving, and I throw on some clothes and head downstairs as quickly as I can manage. Usually I like being alone in Wayne manor, there's  _so_ much to look at, but right now it feels more like a staging ground for a murder than anything wonderous.

I almost think the house is empty — it's not that late in the day, and the Owls generally don't wake up until at least ten or eleven anyway, so that feels a little odd — it's so quiet, until I get into the kitchen and find everyone sitting around the table. No one is meeting anyone else's eyes, not even Dick, and what little food is still on the table is being ignored in favor of cradled drinks and distant gazes.

Except Jason. Jason's missing from the table, and that worries me a little bit. I know he can take care of himself, but usually he tells me if he's going to be gone instead of just vanishing.

I carefully take one of the empty seats — it's next to Dick, but he doesn't even spare me more than a glance, and it doesn't have any of the usual sharp-edged threat in it — and look around at them. It feels a little sacrilegious to break the silence, but I carefully ask, after a few moments, "Did I miss a fight?"

My voice is just about as quiet as I can make it, but the reaction still feels a bit like me speaking is a gunshot. Tim twitches in something I can't quite call a flinch, Damian shoots me a  _glare_ and then returns his gaze down to the mug he's got between his hands, Dick draws in a sharp breath, and Bruce looks up at me for a long moment before deliberately setting his drink down and pushing away from the table. He doesn't look back as he sweeps out of the room, and when Dick turns to me and flashes a bright smile that doesn't reach his eyes I sink back in my chair a little bit. He doesn't say anything, just gets up and follows Bruce out of the room, leaving nearly untouched plates and nearly empty drinks.

I carefully turn to look at Tim and Damian. Tim is dressed in a tailored suit, like he's about to leave for some kind of a business meeting, and Damian is much more casually in grey pajama pants and a comfortable looking shirt a few sizes too big for him. Tim is watching me, but Damian is still focused down on his mug.

"What's going on?" I ask, and Tim's gaze flicks away and down to the table.

Damian doesn't look up, and his shoulders are high and stiff with tension. "There was an important event on this day, and Father and Grayson are," he pauses for a moment, like he's not sure what word to put on the end of that sentence. "Touchy," he finally decides on.

I glance around at the leftover plates and cups — I'm not used to Alfred not immediately sweeping in and clearing things off of the tables — and get stuck on the fact that Jason isn't here. That worries me a little more now, though maybe he just isn't around because of the mood the two oldest Owls are in. Jason doesn't deal well with tension, it tends to make him paranoid and then sometimes he goes a little crazy, so usually when people he cares about are upset with each other, or him, he just bails out. I don't blame him.

"What happened?" Tim gives another of those strange twitches that aren't a flinch, and then looks up at me.

"It's the anniversary of Jason's death," he says softly, uncomfortably. My stomach drops,  _any_ appetite gone just like that, and Tim leans back in his chair with what even I can see is forced relaxation. "Damian and I weren't here at the time, of course, but Bruce and Dick have always been this way on this date."

It's… April twenty-seventh? I don't remember Jason ever saying anything, but before I was allowed into the family there were a lot of times that Jason was gone and I never questioned it. It's totally possible that I just missed this last year.

Oh  _no_.

"Where's Jason?" I know my voice is sharp, worried, but neither of them seem to criticize me for it, or even react.

"Todd is never here," Damian says simply, with a roll of one shoulder in a shrug. "He'll be at one of his safe houses, likely for the next two or three days."

It's  _not good_ that Jason is alone. He always hides when he's hurt in any way but physically, and I've  _seen_ him internalize things like this before. Not anything  _this_ big though, and that makes it so much worse. Jason shouldn't be alone for something like this, he should have someone to lean on and help him through it, even if all that means is sitting next to him and being there without a word. Jason might  _think_ he needs to hide his pain, but I'm trying to get him to realize that I'll  _always_ be there when he needs it. Being alone doesn't  _help_.

I look over at Tim, and he gives a very soft sigh and bows his head for a moment. "I'll give you the location my trackers put him at.  _If_ you can help, good. If you can't, I expect you to leave him alone. Understood?"

"Of course," I agree quickly. "I'd never hurt Jason, you know that."

Tim nods and then rises up to his feet, slow and carefully precise, like he has to know exactly what each muscle is doing before he lets it happen. Damian glances up, then curls a little further into his chair and around the mug in his hands. I try to get to my feet as quietly as he did, but pretty much fail miserably when the chair scrapes against the floor as I push it back. I wince at the noise, but they both ignore it.

When Tim slips past me he doesn't tell me to follow, but I do anyway. For  _Jason_.

* * *

The safe house isn't actually a house. In fact it's not even an apartment like I'm used to most of them being.

The ride up the elevator, all the way to the second to the top floor of one of the fancier hotels in all of  _Gotham_ , feels like I'm still waiting for the joke to come through. Like Tim is going to call and casually inform me that he was just kidding, and I probably shouldn't disturb whoever is actually in there. Which, speaking of calling…

I pull my phone out of my pocket — long ride, I've got some time — and dial Kori's number, hoping that she's actually somewhere near her phone and didn't leave it lying on some random counter inside the base. Luckily, she answers after a few rings, and as I get to the floor Tim directed me to and step out.

" _Mmm, Roy. I am looking forward to having you in my bed again."_

My mouth curves in a small grin before I can help it, love soaring high in my chest at Kori's blunt attitude and the rumbling purr of her voice. I close my eyes for just a second, enjoying it, before refocusing on the door I'm standing in front of — the only one on this floor, the room  _is_ the floor — and taking a brief glance to either side, along the short corridor, to make sure I'm alone.

"Yeah, so was I. Look, Kori, I'm  _really_ sorry, but I just found out that this is the date that Jason died and I think he really needs someone. I'm  _sorry_ , but—"

" _Do not apologize,"_ Kori says, cutting me off, and a large part of me is really relieved that she doesn't sound angry, or cold. " _I am well aware I share your heart with someone else, Roy Harper. I would have enjoyed you, but if one of us is in need that should always come first. I can always enjoy you the next time you are here, you will not be going anywhere."_

I can't help loving that she says it like it's a fact. Like there's no force in the universe that could possibly make me leave the next time I'm in the base, and there will be absolutely no interruptions to whatever she wants from me. Sex, definitely, and if she's feeling particularly relaxed she might ask for a massage, or just for me to lie next to her and run my fingers through her hair. Jason loves that too, actually. Oh, my untameable badasses of lovers, both content to lie naked in a bed and let me stroke my fingers through their hair until they fall asleep, or I do.

I'm still  _awed_ that both of them trust me enough to let me do that. Kori was a slave, I can only  _imagine_ the things that were done to her — and I don't want to imagine, it  _hurts_  — and Jason died and came back with a case of insanity and a side order of PTSD. But both of them will let me hold them, and touch them, and are comfortable enough in a room alone with me to relax far enough that they fall asleep without meaning to. It's humbling, and they're both  _amazing_ , though sometimes I do kind of feel like a lion tamer in the best of ways.

"Thank you, Kori," I say softly, hoping she can hear my smile through my voice.

" _You are welcome, Roy Harper. If Jason is in any condition to hear it, offer him my sympathies."_

"I will. Talk to you later." I wait for the click of her hanging up, and then turn the screen of my phone off and tuck it back into the back right pocket of my jeans. Showing up in casual clothes seemed better than in full gear, even if I came without weapons.

Sometimes Jason doesn't quite differentiate friends from enemies, and I want to be as completely unthreatening as possible. He's never hurt me, but I don't ever take chances with Jason's boundaries and his comfort levels. I will  _always_ cater to his fears, as long as I can, and I will always back off the  _second_ that he says something. You just  _don't_ fuck around with people's traumas, not ever. Especially not when the person also happens to be one of the most talented, deadly, amazing,  _killers_ I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Maybe Nightingale, Dick, makes it look more effortless, and he seems to enjoy it more, but Jason is  _just_ as good when it comes down to it. I'm almost totally positive of that, even if I've never seen them get physical —  _woah_ , brain, I meant in a  _fight_  — more than once or twice, and only very briefly. Neither of them has ever really attacked the other while I've been around to see it, they've just traded a few small blows and a few dancing dodges and parries. Still, it looked even to  _me_ , and they seem to respect each other when it comes to fighting. Plus, the  _hell_ that the whole family has been putting me through to make sure that I live up to the title of being one of them has let me see that Jason and Dick are skilled in two very different ways.

Hey, maybe someday I can ask to watch them spar, if they do that sort of thing. I mean, there's all that training equipment down in the Roost, and a large area of it is devoted to open training mats, so I  _have_ to assume they do a fair amount of sparring when they've got the time. I can't even  _imagine_ what that must look like, I've never had the pleasure — or maybe the better phrase is 'unholy terror'? — of watching two Owls really fight, spar or not. I've seen Jason and Dick argue, but it was during that week where Jason was  _pissed_ at Dick for some reason he wouldn't tell anyone else, and Dick was all sharp edges and defensive posture when he was anywhere around his younger 'brother.' That was scary as all hell.

But maybe a spar, where they're actually mostly  _friendly_ , would just be kind of awe-inspiring and amazing. I think I'd love to see two Owls train at their level, when it's not dulled down so they don't just crush me into the mat. It was a complete relief, I totally admit, when Jason pointed out to me that no one expected me to be as good as any of them. They're only trying to get me better than I am right now.

Which is good, it's unbelievably good, because just how hard they're pushing me right now is way beyond—

Alright, now I'm just stalling.

I shift, staring at the door in front of me that seems a lot like the entrance to some kind of mystical alternate realm, or maybe the lair of a dragon. I've never been in one of Jason's safe houses before, and this doesn't feel like a usual one anyway. Who — permanently? — rents out a high-priced hotel room as a safe house? Oliver and I don't really have safe houses, so much as what we call resupply points, for ammo or tools.

This doesn't feel like somewhere Jason would be caught dead in anyway; he's got some weird hang-ups about wealth that I'm pretty sure circle back around to how he was raised. Like shit, basically.

Before I can talk myself any more into or out of it I step forward and raise my hand, knocking on the door. It feels loud to my nerves, and I shift half a step back to give myself a little space. It's not going to do anything, and that door opens into the room so it's not like I need to be out of the way, but not standing right up against the wood makes me breathe a little easier anyway.

There's enough silence that I consider knocking again, before finally there's the click of a lock and the door slides open a crack. I hold my hands out to either side to showcase that they're empty, and give a soft grin as I catch the sliver of skin and one blue-green eye mostly behind the door. It takes another second, but then the door pulls open farther.

It's definitely Jason, and he looks pretty  _awful_. He's in a pair of black sweatpants and a white tank-top, bare feet and no weapons that I can see, but that doesn't mean anything. I can see the tension stiffening his shoulders and the muscles of his arms, the one hand I can see tapping restless patterns into his thigh. There's something dark in his eyes that I can't even start to decipher, but his eyes themselves are actually brighter and greener than they should be. Pit madness; I know the warning signs.

"Hey Jaybird," I offer, quietly.

"Roy?" he asks, sounding like he's not quite sure he actually believes that I'm here. His voice is a little wrecked in a way I definitely don't remember it being last night.

I soften my grin down to a smile, not making  _any_ attempt to approach him because approaching a Pit-mad Jason takes a lot of finesse and patience. "Yeah, it's me. I know what day it is." He cringes, gaze jerking away from my face. Even I can read the  _pain_  that flashes across his expression, and the way he closes his eyes and then snaps them open again.

"You don't want to be around me right now," he says roughly, not looking at me.

"I always want to be around you, Jaybird." I can see him shudder, see the hand not already gripping the door tighten into a fist before he takes a deep breath and forcefully loosens himself back out.

"No," he presses, glancing back over at me. "I'm not safe to be around right now, Roy. It doesn't matter that I—" He cuts himself off, swallowing, and then shakes his head. "It's not safe; you can't be here."

"What doesn't matter?" I coax, and he flinches and jerks back a little.

The laugh he gives is empty and a lot more broken than I like hearing from him, but I try not to let my worry show. I knew I was right, I  _knew_  that it was bad for Jason to be alone right now. He needs someone else to help him through this, and I  _know_  that he can handle it himself, eventually, because obviously he has before, but I have no idea how much pain he'll go through first. I just have to convince him to let me stay, in whatever way he wants or needs, and for however long he needs. I don't know if I could stand leaving now, now that I  _know_ some of how badly this is hitting him.

"I'm  _dangerous_ , Roy." He meets my eyes, and the look in his eyes makes a large part of me want to move forward and gather him into a hug. The smarter part of me strangles that back as an  _exceedingly_  stupid idea. " _Please_ , just go. I don't have control and if I  _hurt_  you—"

"You won't," I counter, gently. I take a slow step forward, and he only stiffens a little bit so I take another one. I don't reach out to touch him, but I carefully hold my hands out to either side so he can keep track of them while I sink to my knees.

" _Roy_ ," he starts, sounding pained and almost desperate.

"You  _won't_  hurt me, Jason," I press, letting my smile slip away so I can be serious as I stare up at him. I very slowly reach forward and curl my fingers around his free hand, and I can hear the small sound of protest he makes but he lets me pull his hand to me and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles. "I  _trust_  you, Jaybird."

He gives another small, humorless bark of laughter. " _I_  don't," he admits, and he looks like he's in so much  _pain_ that I can't help pressing another kiss to his hand.

"Let me help you with that?" I offer, with a very small smile. "If you really want me to go, I will, but I want to stay and help, and I think you want me here too." I stroke my thumb over the back of his hand, meeting his gaze and holding it. "I love you, Jaybird. Remember?"

His hand  _jerks_  away from my loose grip, and he takes half a step back as he makes a noise that sounds like it's dragged out of the darkest parts of his chest. Something desperate and torn open, and I try  _really_ hard not to see it as a reaction to my words even though it totally is. His teeth grit together, head tossing as he shakes it violently, eyes bright and pained.

"That's  _why_ ," he all but gasps. "It doesn't  _matter_ that I want you here, Roy. I  _love_ you, and  _god_  if I hurt you I don't think I—" He shudders, eyes squeezing shut for barely half a second before flicking open again, and I recognize  _fear_ in his expression. "I  _can't_  risk you, Roy. Not against this  _thing_  in me."

I stay on my knees, not sure if rising is going to be the tipping point that makes him slam the door in my face. "You're underestimating yourself," I tell him, and they're not just words to me. I  _believe_  that Jason is so much stronger than he gives himself credit for, so much more capable, worth  _so_  much more than he thinks he is. "You're afraid and that's  _totally_  understandable, Jaybird, but you've  _never_  hurt me before and you're not going to do it now either."

He winces, hand clenching down on the door. "It's not the same," he almost whispers. "You have no  _idea_ what's in my head, Roy. You can't  _imagine_  what it feels like."

"So tell me," I offer, "or  _don't_. If you tell me I'll listen, Jaybird, you know I will, but if all you want to do is sit next to me, or have  _amazing_ sex and ignore all of this, I'm down for that too." His eyes widen for a second, in surprise, and then something raw and open that I can't even start to decipher takes over his expression.

He moves, letting go of the door and reaching down in a flash, and I force myself not to jerk or react as his hands curl around my arms and drag me to my feet. He's  _not_ going to hurt me, I  _know_ that. He pulls me closer, through the door, and I can hear it shut and automatically lock like all hotel rooms as he shoves it closed. I have time to part my mouth for the start of some kind of question before he's kissing me, and I only give a little shocked noise into his mouth. It's hard, and I can nearly taste the desperate tint to the way his hands flex on my arms and his lips press against mine. I relax from the automatic tension of getting yanked to my feet, into his touch.

His hands smooth down my arms, interlacing our fingers and gripping tight. I don't resist when he slowly slides his hands backwards, looping his arms around my waist and taking the hands still interlaced with his with him so my arms are trapped behind my back. It's not a stretch, or painful, and even if  _he_ doesn't believe it I  _know_ Jason would never hurt me.  _Never_.

Plus, this is totally inappropriate, but getting pinned by Jason is always kind of a thrill. Now is  _not_ the time, of course. Unless he actually wants the amazing sex, and then I might have been mostly kidding but I actually would be down for that. As long as he wants it, I'd pretty much never turn down sex with Jason.

He shudders, gives a hitched exhale into my mouth, and then slowly pulls away from the kiss. He seems calmer, at least a little bit, and he lowers his head and tucks it down against my shoulder. "Do you know how totally  _insane_ you are?" he asks, with an edge of sharp laughter to his voice. "Why the fuck did you settle for  _me_ , Roy?"

"Settle for you?" I ask, tilting my head to press a gentle kiss into his hair. "You're the  _Red Hood_ , Jaybird, you're an  _Owl_. You might not believe it, but everybody else thinks  _you_ settled for  _me_." I lean into him, feeling the beat of his heart through the thin tank-top. "I don't get to choose who I love, Jason," I say, keeping myself steady and serious, "and even if I did, I wouldn't change anything."

"Fuck what everyone else thinks," he manages, turning to press his face into my neck. "I'm— God, I'm  _fucked_ up, Roy. Why do you deal with that? Why do you—?" He shudders, and I swallow back the pain swelling in my chest at hearing him talk about himself like that. Jason  _never_ believes that he's worth as much as he is.

"Jaybird," I say softly, nudging the side of his head with mine, "look at me." I can feel the tension slip through him, but he slowly raises his head and pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes. I give a soft smile, leaning in to brush my lips against his. "Jason, I  _love_ you." I let him digest that for a second, and then pull back so I can look right at him. "Not just the good that's in you, or the bad. I love  _you_." He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. "I love  _every_ part of you, Jaybird, no matter how fucked up or broken you think it is, got it?"

He stares at me, blue-green eyes wide, and then I can  _see_ him break. He takes in another of those sharp, gasping breaths, and then his hands let go of mine. His right one drags up my back and clenches in my hair as he drags me tight against him, head falling as he clutches me close, digging into the junction of my neck and shoulder. He's trembling, and I carefully pull my arms out from behind my back and reach forward to touch either side of his waist. When he doesn't react except to hold me a little tighter, I loop my arms around his waist and duck my head down to press a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

"You'll be alright, Jaybird," I promise, closing my eyes against his skin. "You've done this before on your own and gotten through. This time I'm here, for whatever you need, and I'm not going anywhere."

"It  _screams_ ," he says against my throat, his voice tight and wrecked,  _hurt_. "The Pit. It screams and sings and  _hisses_ at me; tells me how  _easy_ it would be to take advantage of every weakness I see. It's  _fury_ , and it feels so  _good_ to let it just have me. It's this singing, screaming,  _madness_ in me and it's there  _all the time_ , and I have to fight it every  _second_  or I— Or all I am is the  _anger_  and I can't  _think_  past the burn and the  _roar_." He shakes a little harder for a second, hand pulling tight enough in my hair that it stings a little bit but I don't say a  _damn_ thing. Not right now. "That's in my head  _every day_ , Roy," Jason says, with a shaky, broken laugh. "The  _second_  I give even a little it has me, and it's  _so hard_ to get back out of it.  _That's_ what's in my head. It's  _hell_."

I carefully stroke my hands up his back, feeling the shaking in his shoulders and the almost-bruising grip of his fingers on my waist. "Thank you for telling me," I say quietly, pressing another soft kiss to the skin under my mouth. "That doesn't change me loving you, Jaybird, and whatever you need, I'm here."

Jason stiffens for a second, enough that I think I seriously fucked up somehow, and then he makes a desperate, broken,  _sound_ and gives half of a hitched sob. I hold him just a little tighter as he shakes, leaning heavily into me and I brace myself against his weight. I can feel the wet warmth at my shoulder, feel the way his hand curls into my shirt and clings tight, and I stroke my hands along his back and let him fall apart.

"It'll be alright, Jaybird," I murmur in his ear. "I know it's not right now, but someday it will be. I'll be here, I  _promise_."

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it, the last of my apology week. So, I'm officially swapping my update schedule to Mondays and Fridays (my days off), for as long as I can keep up a two-a-week schedule. So, as soon as I've got a name for it, I've got a story for tomorrow too! I've got a few more Bleach stories to put up, and then I'll officially be done with that, but no worries. For now, I'll just be posting one DC and then one Bleach story, until I run out of them.
> 
> Also, I'm signing up for the DCU Bang, the information I've posted over on Tumblr, so if you have any story ideas for that, please pitch them to me (preferably over Tumblr, feel free to be anonymous)! Even if I don't write the DCU Bang story for it, I might write it anyway just because ideas overtake my brain pretty easily. You've got until the 10th of this month (May) before I'll need the extra time to think/prepare, and I can sign up for two separate stories! Bring the ideas on!


End file.
